


for one day's such opportunity

by asphodelgrimoire



Series: sinners in the hands of an angry god [7]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Christianity, Comfort Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Sexual Abuse, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Praise Kink, Trans Aaron Burr, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 11:28:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7530976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphodelgrimoire/pseuds/asphodelgrimoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>THIS TOOK SO LONG IM SORRY</p><p>title from jonathan edwards' sermon (yes i keep mentioning it bc i want yall to think im clever)</p><p>and the sex isn't sexy but it's ok it's not supposed to be</p>
    </blockquote>





	for one day's such opportunity

**Author's Note:**

> THIS TOOK SO LONG IM SORRY
> 
> title from jonathan edwards' sermon (yes i keep mentioning it bc i want yall to think im clever)
> 
> and the sex isn't sexy but it's ok it's not supposed to be

Fourth of July comes around more quickly than Aaron had hoped.

He wakes up early, hears Mr. Bellamy tell Jon that the rest of the family will be gone for the whole day, something about a parade and a barbecue next door. Tells him that he and Aaron can come over to the neighbor’s house at any time if they want to, but that he and the others might not be back until after midnight. Jon gets back into bed with him soon enough. With the blinds open, Aaron can see that it isn’t yet light outside, the sky still a dark indigo, but dawn isn’t far off. He presses his face against Jon’s shoulder and stares over it toward the display case on the adjacent wall.

Jon kisses his jawline and doesn’t bother following his gaze. He knows what Aaron is looking at.

Lucy had just finished it yesterday, and now it’s finally up. A triangle of wood and glass, a plaque with Matt’s name on it in the middle and the photo of him below. The medals surround it, and below is a mirrored triangle containing a generic burial flag, folded painstakingly by Jon. Aaron hopes that Rhoda will send him Matt’s, but he doesn’t want to jinx the already shocking amount of kindness given to him. He’d helped Lucy make a sketch of what he wanted the case to look like, and picked ash wood for the frame of it. Jon smiled at his decision and shooed Lucy away with excuses that they needed to take a nap. She just rolled her eyes and waved at Aaron before going out to work on the display case.

Now it’s on the bedroom wall.

And it’s beautiful.

And Aaron thinks Matt would love it just as much as he does.

Jon emailed General Greene about the medals only a day after the package arrived, and he got a response less than an hour later. Left in the middle of dinner to wake Aaron and tell him.

Some are common, with almost everyone in the unit having one. Army Service Ribbon. Good Conduct Medal. Overseas Service Ribbon. Army of Occupation Medal.

Others are not so easy to come by. Meritorious Service Medal. Commendation Medal. Distinguished Service Cross. The Purple Heart was a donation from Captain Daniel Baldwin, a man who served under Matt, and was purportedly saved by him. Greene told Jon that the incident in question was the source of at least one of the earned decorations, if not more of them.

Aaron was a wreck when Jon informed him that the Distinguished Service Cross was the second highest military decoration available. Matt saved people. He was a hero. Everyone in the unit loved him. Aaron began to imagine him accepting all of his awards, smiling, looking to his friends and probably thinking that they deserved recognition too, because that’s how he is. Was. Aaron didn’t stop crying until Jon brought the medal to him.

That one’s right under Matt’s name.

Jon smiles against his skin. “I wish I could meet him,” he says suddenly.

“No you don’t,” Aaron replies, sighing a little and pressing closer.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Jon props himself up on his elbow to look at Aaron with a frown.

“He would be _so_ passive-aggressive if he learned that we were together. Every other sentence would be about his beer pong techniques, or about how great being an atheist is. And he’d do it just to annoy you too,” Aaron says, utterly serious. Jon stares at him incredulously for a moment, then descends into a fit of laughter. He buries his head in the crook of Aaron’s neck, and his chest shakes with it. His breath tickles.

“You are something else,” Jon says, but it’s with a fond smile. “I don’t mind atheists, or beer pong, really. I wouldn’t hate him.”

Aaron shakes his head, looks at the ceiling, recalling Matt’s expression to mind. “He was an obnoxious atheist though. You’d hate him.”

Jon leans over him and looks him in the eye. “Aaron,” he says, still smiling, but the tinge of amusement is gone. “I couldn’t hate him. Maybe I would, at first, then I’d see him look at you, and you know I couldn’t. I can’t hate someone who looks at you the way I do.”

 _He loved you._ Aaron sobers, staring past Jon. He realizes that Matt _did_ look at him the way Jon does, a little different- Matt only looked when he thought Aaron wasn’t looking back, bit his lip to keep from smiling, was a bit younger- but he can see it. “Okay,” he says, gentle.

“Do you want to rest a little more?” Jon asks, wrapping his arms around Aaron again and kissing behind his ear. “I can make breakfast, if you’d like.”

“Just a little longer,” Aaron says, closing his eyes, and he feels- doesn’t see- Jon’s smile against his jawline when he pulls Aaron to his chest. Jon’s hands burn on his lower back. He revels in it, allows himself to smile too.

It’s warm in the bed between them. Aaron presses close, breathes in the scent of Jon’s skin, and feels overwhelmingly at home. He doesn’t know where he’d be without Jon, doesn’t want to know. The best part is that Jon wants him here. Jon wants him here more than anything, and that confounds him. This is his home, as far as he’s concerned. Not at Princeton, or the house in Stockbridge, or even with his sister. He’s never felt unsafe with Jon. He smiles at Sunday dinner. Matt’s jacket is in the closet, his medals are on the wall. Aaron has a box of comforting things Jon bought him under the bed, and beside that he has other little trinkets that Jon thought he’d like; scented stickers, a cat plush, a disposable camera (with which he’s taken only one photo- of the display case. He puts it back under the bed in vain hopes that Matt might see it, somewhere, someday. Jon tells Aaron that he will.)

It’s nice to think that his and Jon’s spaces aren’t mutually exclusive.

“Alright,” he concedes, letting the thought drift away and opening his eyes. When he does, he sees that Jon is staring at him intently with an ambiguous look. Just as soon as it appears, it’s gone, and he’s back to a wide smile.

“Alright,” Jon repeats, and kisses Aaron’s nose before kicking the blankets off of them. He sits up, pulls Aaron with him. “Wait,” he says, then ghosts his fingers at the hem of Aaron’s shirt. While confused, he nods to whatever Jon is planning to do; there’s nothing to suggest he shouldn’t. Jon’s plan, as it turns out, is just to efficiently replace his white tank top with one of Matt’s sweatshirts, his own Yale hoodie on top. “Cold,” he explains simply. Aaron’s ears go hot.

Jon leads him down the hallway, has him sit at the dining table. “Huh, I guess they left already,” he says, and Aaron realizes that he didn’t even think to hesitate in case anyone was in the kitchen. Jon must know that he heard the earlier conversation, because he doesn’t explain any further. “Now, what would you like to eat?” Aaron shrugs, a little helplessly. He _is_ hungry, but it’s hard to think. Jon gives him a minute, but all he gets is an apologetic look. “That’s okay,” He sits down next to Aaron and squeezes his hand. “Do you know what he liked to eat for breakfast?” he asks, gentle.

Aaron rubs his hands over his face and smiles. He lets out a half-sobbing laugh. Jon looks to him, concerned, but he waves his hand dismissively. “Timothy had to get huge bulk packages of peaches and cream oatmeal all the time,” he says, laughing again. Jon raises his eyebrows, and a slow smile spreads on his face. “He scarfed down at least 5 of those packets every morning for a year.”

“An impressive feat, for sure,” Jon adds. He kisses Aaron’s knuckles. “Do you want to make him oatmeal?” To anyone else, that would sound childish. Pointless. Like putting out food for a dead cat. But Jon says it like he means it, waits for an answer, and Aaron _does_ want to. He can’t say that he wants things to go back to where they were before, but he wants to pretend like everything’s okay, if only for a minute. He nods. “I don’t have any of the packets, but we can make it ourselves. We have quick oats, milk, and peaches, so I think it’ll be fine.”

For the next ten minutes, they work on making the oatmeal; Jon giving instructions and Aaron following them. It’s soothing to stir and dice and pour mindlessly, then to have a product to show for it. He scoops peach chunks onto the oatmeal when it’s warmed, lets Jon drizzle cream over it.

It looks like something out of a magazine, rather than his childhood, but it’s the thought that counts, he supposes. He’s proud that he made something.

“Can I have some?” Jon asks, reaching for another spoon. As if it’s actually for Matt. Aaron nods, bringing the bowl over to the table. Despite not looking like the Quaker Oats oatmeal that Matt was so fond of, it tastes exactly the same. Jon smiles when he takes a bite, and Aaron follows suit. He remembers asking what was so great about it, Matt sharing it with him. He remembers understanding a little better afterwards, shoulder-to-shoulder with Matt on a grey morning, why he liked it so much.

When they’re done, Aaron feels both warm and cold. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but he doesn’t let them fall. Even with Jon there for him, he’s so lonely. Even after eating, he’s empty. He looks to Jon, helplessly, hoping that he knows how to fix Aaron.

Jon doesn’t bother putting the bowl away, looks back at Aaron with sad eyes, as if he wishes he knew how to fix him too. “Bedroom?” And Aaron nods, then stands up and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes until they’re back in Jon’s room, then he opens them to blink away the few white spots adorning the walls. “What do you want to do now?” Jon asks, sits him down on the bed.

“Show me the Bible?” he says, uncertainly. The gifts are nice, but they haven’t given him any energy. He’s only scribbled in the journal, ripped up some of the pages afterward, and eaten most of the candy. The Bible remains untouched. Jon nods without any hesitation, reaches under the bed to get to Aaron’s box and pulls the book out with a piece of candy for him. Aaron puts it in his mouth absentmindedly and watches, rapt, as Jon mutters fragments of verses, trying to bring to mind the most useful ones before even opening the book itself.

“I’ll be honest. I don’t like most of the verses about death and grief. The tabs? Mostly uplifting quotes, not specific to mourning. I don’t…” he trails off, and Aaron watches still. “I don’t like that the Bible refers to the deceased as ‘former’. Like they aren’t here anymore. Or saying that we shouldn’t mourn because at some point, we’ll join them in Heaven. Feelings and memories are human, and I wouldn’t want to lose the ability to cry for someone that’s gone, temporary as it may be. I don’t know, but, see-“ Jon opens the Bible up to Corinthians, flips a few pages and points to a line. “I do like this one. _Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble._ That’s what… I just want to help you. Because I know you don’t have a lot of other people to go to, and when my mom died, I had everyone. It’s like, I’ve been through this. It’s terrible. But it would have been worse if nobody was there to help me. I want to be there for you, whenever you want me.”

Aaron nods emphatically and doesn’t say anything. Can’t. He loves Jon too much, and the almost pained look of effort on his face is more than Aaron can bear. He doesn’t try to take the Bible, but presses himself bodily against Jon’s side until his eyebrows unknit.

“Aaron,” he says. “What are you thinking?”

There’s no reason to deflect the question. Jon is so earnest, he only wants to help Aaron get better. He swallows around the lump in his throat, and Jon is patient. “I miss him,” he admits brokenly after a moment. “He was gone for so long, but now it’s different. He’s not coming back,” Jon nods. “I’m never going to see him again,” he says, chokes back a sob and rests his head on Jon’s shoulder. “I thought I could be in love with him, he- he was all I had. I wasn’t. It was just what he wanted, and what Timothy wanted, and God, he probably knew that I wasn’t, I didn’t even _kiss him goodbye,_ ” Aaron’s rambling, but Jon doesn’t stop him. It’s the most he’s said in a while. When he stops, sniffling again, Jon wraps both arms around him, pulls him close and rocks back and forth.

“I know, I know,” And he doesn’t know, really, the _guilt_ of leading Matt on all that time, barely looking him in the eye when they were alone, not even thinking to write when he left. He wonders if Matt might have come home if only he knew Aaron was waiting for him. Or if he didn’t come home because he knew Aaron _wasn’t_ waiting.

He tucks his shoulders in so as to fit into Jon’s arms better. “What else does it say?” he asks, eyes trailing slowly to the Bible.

Jon kisses the top of his head and flips more pages. Aaron doesn’t bother to strain his eyes and see what all the pages read. “ _God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,_ ” Jon recites, and he sounds like he believes it with every fiber of his being. His voice is soothing. The words are soft like static. He goes back in the book, and Aaron touches the page reverently when he gets to what he’s looking for. “ _Do not let your heart be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am,_ ” And for a moment, Aaron doesn’t register that it’s a verse.

 _A place for you, to be with me, be where I am._ A calm washes over him, and Jon seems to sense that he understands.

Still, he worries. “Jon, I- I don’t know if I believe in God,” Aaron doesn’t know if he’s fit to pray. He’d hated the scriptures for so long, never knowing any version but Timothy’s, but it’s so nice to have anything familiar to believe in.

“You don’t have to,” Jon says, voice even and simple. “The Bible is for everyone. There’s nothing wrong with taking comfort in it.”

Aaron nods. He doesn’t know what to say to that. “Okay,” he replies, and Jon doesn’t read anything more. He keeps Aaron close, flipping the pages in a slow, near hypnotic rhythm. After a while, Jon closes the book, and light from the window flickers between warm and cool as noon rolls around. Aaron lies down behind him and drifts. When he comes to next, Jon is lying with him, the Bible now on the bedside table. He isn’t asleep, never seems tired anyway. Aaron is always tired. Jon is fine with that.

No, he isn’t asleep. His eyes trail to Aaron’s throat, and he smiles gently, but doesn’t say anything.

Aaron closes his eyes again, and when he wakes up, Jon is sitting in the other bed, fiddling with his phone. He’s completely enthralled in whatever he’s doing; Aaron has the mind to be irritated that Jon’s attention isn’t completely focused on him, but deeper than that, he’s glad that Jon didn’t feel forced to stay in bed for his sake.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Jon says when he sees Aaron rise slowly. “Dinner’s almost ready,” He nods.

He looks down at his hands. “I-“ Aaron doesn’t know what he’s going to say, but now Jon is looking at him, and he has to finish the sentence. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Aaron leans forward to hug his blanket-clad knees. “You have to stay in here with me instead of going out and doing something fun.”

Jon throws his phone on the bed and sits next to Aaron, looking at him carefully. “I don’t have to do anything,” he says, not angry, but reminding. Aaron feels scolded and curls in on himself, but Jon doesn’t let him. “I don’t have to stay. You could take care of yourself. But I want to. There’s nothing I’d rather be doing than staying in here with you. Alright?” He traces his finger over Aaron’s cheekbone. “Anyway, going to the neighbor’s house would be awkward, because I heard that his wife was talking to her ex again, and there’s no way I could look him in the eye knowing that.”

Aaron raises an eyebrow, even as he lets himself be pulled up and off the bed. Jon draws him close and smiles gently. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Aaron says easily, walking with him toward the smell of food.

Jon hums and again sits him down at the dining table. He only leaves briefly to assemble the meal and get napkins. He slides one plate to Aaron. “I made cheesesteaks, for the full Fourth of July effect. What do you want to drink?”

“Just water,” he replies, quiet. Jon nods and gets him a glass, gets himself lemonade.

They eat in relative silence, Aaron nibbling on his sandwich, but getting through it steadily. Jon, on the other hand, is done in what seems like four bites. He eats slowly enough for Aaron not to feel bad about pecking at his food, but the difference is obvious.

The popping sound of fireworks, most distant but some close enough to echo, going off begin about halfway through the stretch of silence. “Jon?” Aaron says suddenly, pausing to speak.

“Yeah?”

“What if Matt was scared of fireworks?”

Jon blinks at him for a moment, and he considers taking it back because of how strange it must sound. “The bathroom is soundproof, if worse came to worse, and Litchfield is so small; everyone checks the town announcement website. We could just put a message on there. The neighborhood loves veterans.”

Aaron’s eyes sting, and he presses his palm into one of them, trying hard not to cry again. If he’d come home, he would be a _veteran._ “Would he be okay?” Aaron’s voice wavers pathetically.

Jon reaches across the table to grab his other hand. “I don’t know. But we’d do everything we could to help. Right?” Aaron nods and hides his face, lets out a sob. “Eat a little more, then we can go back to the room, okay, Aaron?” They both finish their sandwiches without any extra conversation, and Jon is a little quicker with washing the dishes than he was at breakfast. He peppers kisses all over Aaron’s face as they go back down the hallway. He’s nice. He’s always so nice.

“What do you want to do?” Jon asks, once they’re in the bedroom, sitting on the bed with an inquiring expression, and Aaron swears that he’s been asked that a million times in this house and in this house only. He never gets tired of it, and he doesn’t think he ever will.

Aaron straddles him, hugs him tight. “I just want-“ he cuts himself off with a frustrated noise. He settles for kissing Jon, gentle and slow. Jon seems to realize what he wants and makes a soft sound deep in his throat. “Please touch me,” Aaron says, like he did only a few weeks back. He doesn’t know if he could handle Jon telling him that he isn’t in the right place.

“Are you sure? I want to, but only if you do too,” Jon says instead, eyes earnest and sweet, and Aaron lets out a sigh of relief before nodding emphatically. He stands up and steps out of his sweatpants with no hesitation, but falters at the hem of his shirt and hoodie. He can feel Jon’s eyes on him and averts his gaze. “Aaron?” He shakes his head. Jon wouldn’t say anything like what William said, he has no reason to worry. Aaron banishes that thought and pulls his shirt over his head.

Jon stares at him openly, lips parted. “Oh,” he breathes, walks to him in long strides. Aaron tenses briefly when Jon wraps his arms around him, but he’s warm and isn’t looking at the scars with pity or disdain. “My boy,” Jon whispers adoringly, and Aaron melts into his embrace. He feels _helpless_ in the best way. Jon doesn’t know how much any of this means to him, how long he’s wanted to belong with someone. He doesn’t even know what those words mean to him. Aaron is _his boy._ “Look at you,” Jon continues, stepping away a little, and Aaron stands on his tiptoes, preens as Jon’s eyes wander.

Soon, Jon starts undoing his own belt and similarly undresses. He takes a little longer, given that he’s wearing jeans, but he doesn’t falter once. When he’s finally just in his boxers, Aaron sighs again, in fondness or in relief, he doesn’t know. Jon’s almost as narrow as he is, with a bit more muscle. It isn’t hard to go toward him. Aaron shivers, daring to ghost his fingers down Jon’s biceps. The house is cold.

Aaron tugs him gently to the bed and lies down on his back, while Jon kisses him everywhere. His jawline gets special attention. Nothing below the waist, but Jon does stop to mouth at his nipples, his breath fanning over the raised skin on his chest and making Aaron squeeze his legs together. He wonders briefly if he should ask why the scars don’t bother Jon, but the words die in his throat when lips touch his navel.

“Can I take these off?” Jon says, kisses his hipbones and hooks his fingers on the hem of Aaron’s boxers.

“Yeah,” he breathes. Jon is quick to the uptake, getting his boxers off smoothly.

The next part isn’t so smooth. “Oh, Jesus,” Jon curses as he looks Aaron up and down. Spreads his thighs a little more so as to get a better look, then licks his lips.

“Blasphemy,” Aaron replies, nervous even as he suspects that Jon is nervous just like him, if not more so.

“Sorry,” he says, solemn. He even looks a little remorseful, and Aaron almost laughs. “You’re just… You look so good, Aaron. Jesus,” he says again, this time shaking his head as if clearing it. “Can I taste you? Please?”

Aaron’s mouth goes dry. He nods. He barely even knows what Jon means in his daze, but trusts that Jon will make it good for him. “Yeah,” he says, timid, once he realizes that Jon can’t see him nod.

Jon ducks his head and presses kisses to Aaron’s thighs, laps at the crease of his groin. His face burns when hands trail up his sides, and he inadvertently arches, rocking his hips into Jon’s mouth. It’s almost where he wants it to be when Jon pulls away to start kissing his hips and thighs again.

Aaron wants to be frustrated, but Jon’s tempo is comforting. Slow and heavy, there’s nothing overwhelming. It feels safe.

Soon, Jon trails in to center himself between Aaron’s legs, blows cool air on him. He doesn’t tease, stroking gently with his tongue, and he moans loud against Aaron’s skin. Then Jon seals his lips around his clit and _sucks_. Aaron practically mewls with it. Jon’s tongue moves, almost indiscernible, while he watches Aaron come apart, and he doesn’t fight it, just relaxes against the bed and breathes Jon’s name. The responding hum of acknowledgement makes him whimper. Jon pulls away after that, thumbing at his clit as if to console him.

“I should have said this earlier, but,” His lips are wet and parted, and Aaron wants to kiss him, but he doesn’t get the chance before Jon is ghosting fingers at his entrance with a silent question. He nods yes. “I’m _so_ proud of you,” And Aaron goes stock-still, a question of why on the tip of his tongue, when Jon works a finger into him. His other hand glides over Aaron’s ribcage, then moves to his hand. Jon squeezes it lovingly and continues his ministrations until he’s crooking three fingers inside of him. Jon looks like he’s enjoying it just as much as Aaron is.

Aaron, in that moment, whines high in his throat at the attention. Jon moves up his body to kiss him. Pressing kisses to the corners of Aaron’s mouth and trailing down to his neck. “What do you want?” Jon murmurs, as he nuzzles Aaron’s jawline. The fingers slow to just stroking him inside, and he squirms.

“Take care of me?” And it isn’t an answer, but Jon smiles like he had gotten down on one knee and Aaron had said yes. _Oh god._ Why would that even go through his mind? Tears well up in his eyes just at the thought of it, and he slings one arm over them so Jon doesn’t see. He smiles wide and laughs. He can imagine Jon’s embarrassingly confounded expression at the outburst, but then he starts laughing too, despite not quite understanding the reason for it. It’s ridiculous. Jon pries Aaron’s arm from his face and stares at him- beaming and snickering with wet eyes- with so much adoration that Aaron has to look away. He distantly realizes that Jon’s fingers have gone.

“Of course,” Jon says, once they’ve contained their laughter. His smile is tender rather than excited. “My boy,” he adds, just a whisper, but it makes Aaron’s eyes water all over again. “How can I take care of you?” And he says it like it isn’t one of the most difficult questions Aaron’s ever been faced with. He doesn’t know how. He expects Jon to know that.

“I don’t-“ He wants Jon inside of him, but he’d never be able to say it aloud. And he’d never want to suggest something that Jon wouldn’t like, but he doesn’t _know-_

“Okay. It’s okay. What if I start with something, and if you don’t like it, you tell me, and I won’t go any further? Is that good?” Aaron nearly sobs at the relief of not having to make the decision himself, nods quickly, and doesn’t get the chance to wonder what that says about him, before Jon is leaning over him to reach for the bedside table. “Condom?”

They’ve had discussions about this, and Aaron knows that Jon got tested after the last time he had sex, and that he himself got tested at Princeton after William out of fear. Little to no risk for either of them. “No,” he says, confident.

“Alright,” Jon hums, takes off his boxers. He’s aroused, even Aaron can see that, but takes his time slicking himself up, soothing a hand down Aaron’s thigh. His expression mild, no desperation in his eyes. Aaron doesn’t know how to feel about his nonchalance. He lets Jon arrange his legs as needed and kiss him. “Can I?” He stays close and kisses Aaron again, softly, when he gets a small ‘yes’. Jon doesn’t move immediately, even as the head of his cock rests against Aaron’s entrance. He closes his eyes, waits for some sign that Jon doesn’t want to do this, doesn’t want to do this with him, even as he continues to kiss Aaron soundly. When they part, he’s sure that this will be the admission he’s expecting. “Thank you,” Jon whispers instead, holds his hips as he pushes in, careful and deliberate. Aaron throws his head back. It’s so much. Emotionally, Jon is the only person he’s ever been in love with, and it’s perfect, and it seems like he’s been waiting for _so long._ Physically, he hasn’t had anything but fingers inside of him for at least six months, and it shows. He can feel everything.

“Aaron,” Jon hisses as their hips meet. He regains composure briefly to speak. “Are you comfortable?” he asks, almost being interrupted by a low groan.

“Yes,” Aaron nods without hesitation. Jon stays still, even visibly trembling. Aaron doesn’t want him to have to wait. “You can move,” he says, his eyes wandering to where they’re connected.

“I know,” Jon says, strokes Aaron’s hipbone with his thumb. He moves forward to kiss at his neck, his mouth, his shoulders- wherever he can- without shifting inside of him. Aaron squirms a little to get more comfortable, and Jon allows it. He inadvertently finds an angle that makes him whimper, ruts against it. Jon watches him, silent, and lets him grind to his heart’s content, seeing what he likes and what he loves.

But he _isn’t_ content.

“ _Please_ , Jon,” Aaron has never been above pleading, and he can’t rut hard enough to get any real relief. When Jon hears his name, his head snaps up as if brought out of a reverie, and he nods.

“Of course, of course,” he mutters. Jon rocks back on his heels and pushes in again, slow and still shaky. Aaron whines, letting out a sobbing breath as he thrusts just perfectly. Jon hushes him with little kisses to his neck and another thrust that sends him reeling. “Whatever you need, I’ll take care of you,” Jon says breathlessly, then moans loud into his ear. They’re both so loud.

Aaron is surprised at his pace: a heavy, unhurried drag. Wonders if Jon is bored, or trying to be nice. The latter is more likely, if he’s honest; Jon is always so nice to him. He wants to be nice too- even if he loves the slow pace. It soothes the raw ache of having someone inside him for the first time in months.

“You,” he tries, nearly whines again. “You can go faster.”

“Want me to?” Jon asks, like he knows exactly what Aaron is doing.

And Aaron can’t lie to him.

“No.”

“Neither do I,” he says, and when he rocks his hips again, he hits a spot that forces a gasp out of Aaron. Jon takes advantage of this, whispers sweet things into his ear, calls him his darling boy. Aaron’s heart pounds in his chest at every word. He squeezes his eyes shut when Jon begins circling his clit, weakly arching into the touch. “You’re so sweet, I’m so proud of you,” Jon rambles, and Aaron lets out a high breathy noise.

When he comes, it’s thrashing against the bed and sobbing. If he had the ability to think, he’d be embarrassed at how little it took to get him on the edge. The static in his ears gets louder until all he can hear is Jon whispering, Jon moaning, Jon saying, “I love you.”

Aaron doesn’t let him pull out after that, murmurs a plea for him to keep going. Jon can only oblige. He laughs breathlessly at Aaron’s insistence, but cuts himself off with a groan. Aaron kisses him hard, muffles all the noises he makes and moves with him. Eventually, they’re rutting and moaning against each other’s skin, despite how sensitive Aaron still is. Jon seems to be equally indifferent about this, and slips one hand between them to stroke his clit again. He bucks against Jon’s hand in lazy approval and comes like that; this time, crying out brokenly. It makes him ache. Jon takes another minute or two and groans when he comes, even as Aaron shudders beneath him. His toes curl at the feeling, and he presses his heels hard into the small of Jon’s back.

“Stay,” he demands, but the effect is diminished by the weakness in his voice and the tears in his eyes. Jon wipes his cheek, nods in acceptance. He begins to detangle himself from Aaron, but falters when the man’s heels start to dig into his back. “ _Stay,_ ” Aaron says again, and Jon understands.

His smile is bright, but confounded. “How am I going to-“

“Shh,” Aaron says, pulling Jon down on top of him and pressing a finger to his lips. “Hush. I love you too.”

Jon laughs, and is shushed once more before Aaron gives up. He lets Jon remove his hand and intertwine their fingers. He only whines a little bit when Jon says they have to get cleaned up. He complies, eventually.

It’s only after they’ve taken a shower, after Jon practically carries him to bed and picks the olive green sweatshirt off the floor, after hearing distant crackling, that he remembers what day it is.

“Oh,” Aaron exhales as Jon digs for a pair of boxers to put on him.

“Oh?” Jon repeats, working the shorts over his hips. The silence drags on until he also has Matt’s sweatshirt on again. Aaron sits, dumbfounded. He never forgot- and he hopes he never does- but for once, let himself enjoy something.

“Can you-“ He feels greedy, but logically, he knows that he’s never asked anything of Jon. Jon just gives and gives and gives.

“What?” Jon questions, eyes searching.

“You said earlier,” he pauses. It’s so stupid, but he needs to hear it. “You-“

Jon knows. “I’m proud of you,” he says, stepping forward. “I love you. My boy.”

Aaron lets out a shuddering breath. He stands up suddenly. “You’re so good to me,” Aaron whispers, wraps his arms around Jon. Inside, he’s surprised he can even say that out loud; the affectionate informality of it feels foreign on his tongue, but not bad. He’s almost proud of himself.

He can feel Jon’s heartbeat pick up, smiles secretly. “You’re not so bad yourself,” Jon replies, seemingly flustered, and Aaron flashes him a smile. They stumble into bed. He stretches luxuriously once under the sheets, enjoying the soft cotton made all the better by their recent shower. Everything smells sweet. He’s happy. He’s not okay, but he doesn’t have to be. “How are you?” Jon asks after a near tangible moment of silence.

“I don’t know.”

Jon makes it easy on him. “Are you too warm, too cool, or just right?”

Aaron doesn’t have to think about it for long. “Just right.”

“Too bright, too dark, or just right?”

“Too bright,” he says, and Jon regrettably gets out of the blanket roll to flip the light switch off.

“Are you happy, sad, or something else?”

“Happy,” And Jon _smiles_ so wide that Aaron wants to be able to say he’s happy every time he’s asked. He thinks that he’ll be able to do it one day.

“Anything bothering you, yes or no?” Jon never forgets to ask that, even when he answers every question positively. Aaron loves that. He supposes that there is something bothering him. Matt is still dead. It’s only been a few weeks. He stares at the display case, almost visible through the blanket over their heads.

“Yes,” he says. He wants to say more, but the question is yes or no, as it always is, and it’s like that for a reason. Usually when Jon asks, he either doesn’t want to talk about it, or needs to organize his thoughts so Jon can help him, instead of rambling and getting upset.

“Talk in the morning, yes or no?”

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> im at transaaronburr.tumblr.com for all yelling purposes
> 
> pls tell me what u think


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